Aphrodite
by DanielFactoid
Summary: [complete] Chandler was sure of two things: one, all three women were mad at him. Two, he wasn't quite sure why. After all, he'd only told the truth.


I have no idea why I wrote this. I just needed to get something out of my system, so here it is. I know I haven't updated other stories, but school has taken over… to steal a word from Tao: 'gah'. Plus, I've been working on my LJ page lately (check it out- it has a "Friends" header). What? You want to see my LJ? Well, alright! It's actually my homepage on my info. Oh. And if you have an LJ, leave a comment and add me as a friend. I'll add you back.

-eek- Got a new email, so if you've emailed me before, I'm getting rid of AOL soon… my email should show up on my info page.

Fifth season, after everybody knows… and I don't own 'em. Wished I did.

I think to Leondra, because she puts up with my random comments about my dreams. Plus, you know, if I poke her –pokes- she might WRITE! lol, no, I'm just being hypocritical… -hugs Leondra-

---

"Aphrodite"

As he looked down into his rather depressing bowl of cereal so soggy it looked like the cornflakes had actually melted into the milk, Chandler Bing knew he was only sure of two things.

One, the three beautiful women that were his best friends (and one that was his girlfriend) were now _extremely _angry with him.

Two, he wasn't quite sure why.

After all, he'd only told them the truth. Weren't men supposed to do that? Weren't the three of them _always _complaining about how men were lying morons who had no morals? So, wasn't he, a _man_, their best friend, supposed to tell the truth? Wasn't that the right thing to do?

Swirling the disgusting puddle of cereal carcasses around with the end of his spoon, Chandler had a battle in his head (that was already overflowing with needless information on Rachel's gossip, Monica's recipes, and Phoebe's "massage advice"). Had he done the right thing, or was lying and flattery a better road?

_Telling the **truth **is what they want us to do. So, we do it. And we get what in return? Angry women. Not naked women. Pissed-off, crazy, eyes-on-fire, slapping, _bitchy _women. Is that fair? No! We deserve better! _

Not quite sure why the little lawyer in his head was referring to him as 'we' (maybe he was standing up for all men?), Chandler dumped the cereal in the sink and ran over the last five minutes in his head, trying to understand what had gone wrong.

---

Joey had, once again, used up all the bowls in a very short amount of time; Chandler picked on up from the sink and washed it out, ignoring a plate covered in something that looked suspiciously like algae. How Joey managed to empty out their entire stock of dishes in less than eight hours and then disappear to some "audition" was a mystery to the irritated Chandler.

Wiping the bowl clean (or at least the visible peanut butter was gone, which led to the question of why Joey had peanut butter in the bowl in the first place), Chandler opened the refrigerator and his face fell at the sight of its contents. Ross, before he had moved to Ugly Naked Guy's old apartment, had organized the 'fridge into three groups: meat, fruits and vegetables, and expired products. The top shelf was sagging slightly under the weight of several pounds of expired mustard, rotten fruit, and old Chinese food from some mystery Tuesday.

After shifting a box of Fig Newtons (which shouldn't have been in the refrigerator in the first place) to the side, Chandler found the half-gallon container of skim, some-what lumpy milk hidden in the back. He took it out and grabbed a box of cornflakes from a cupboard, frowning at the tiger on the front of the box.

"They look grrreeaaat," he muttered to himself, sighing as he realized that no one was around to hear his pun. After dumping a generous amount of the (stale) cereal into his bowl and adding some milk, he sat at the counter and began to flip through the entertainment section of the newspaper.

Halfway through an article on Brad Pitt, the door to the apartment burst open and in came Rachel, Phoebe, and Monica, all looking thoroughly pissed off. Chandler tossed the entertainment section behind his back and hid behind the sports section.

"Is Joey here?" Phoebe growled at him, pulling the paper down so that she could see his face.

"Uh… no," Chandler replied, apparently not at all offended that the sports section had a rip in it.

"Damn it," Rachel muttered, looking around distractedly as though Joey might appear magically from one of the walls.

"Why do you need him?" Chandler asked curiously, but was ignored.

"We could just ask _him_," Monica suggested pointedly.

"Oh, please, we can't ask him, he's so _biased_," Phoebe groaned, rolling her eyes towards the ceiling.

"Ask me _what_? And why am I biased?"

Rachel sighed with impatience and crossed her arms, "Well, if you must know, we were just having dinner-"

"Without me?"

The words came out before he had time to think about them; Monica shot him an odd look, "It was a _girls' _thing."

"Oh… okay," Chandler said, nodding his head in understanding, though still confused as to why they didn't invite him, Joey, or Ross. Wasn't their little clique supposed to stay together all the time?

Rachel continued her story as though there had been no interruption, "And we saw this cute-"

"Really cute," Phoebe corrected.

"Fine, this _really cute _guy was at the bar, and he was sending us smiles and being all sexy… but we didn't know who he was trying to flirt with, sooo… we were going to ask Joey who he thought was the prettiest, and then obviously that would be the one Cute Guy was flirting with."

It took a while for Chandler to completely understand the story; finally, he nodded uncertainly, "Okay, so… you want me to choose which one of you is the prettiest?"

All three women nodded vigorously, looking at him expectantly, each of their eyes shouting 'pick me!'

Chandler opened his mouth, prepared to give the obvious answer, and then closed it, suddenly feeling apprehensive. How was he supposed to answer that? His automatic reply was, of course, Monica; but he abruptly became aware of how terrifying Phoebe and Rachel were when ticked off. Feeling as though he were Paris choosing which of the three goddesses was the most beautiful, Chandler made a decision.

"I- I think… I think Monica is?" he said nervously, his voice rising slightly at the end, as though he were asking for their approval.

His words had an immediate reaction; Rachel's mouth fell open in disbelief, and she crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing in on the increasingly nervous Chandler; Phoebe shrieked '_Chandler Muriel Bing!_'; and Monica smiled widely, threw her arms around his neck, and kissed him.

"Thank you, sweetie," she said, her eyes dancing brightly.

Rachel took a step forward and sent them a disgusted look, "Chandler!"

"You biased, biased man!" Phoebe shouted, pointing drastically at Monica and Chandler.

"Guys, come on," he began defensively. "I have to pick Monica, she's my girlfriend-"

An instant later, Monica stepped back out of his arms, "What?"

Something caught in Chandler's throat as he slowly realized he had just dug his own grave. "Uh…um… well, I _meant_..." he stammered, clearing his throat as the three women glared at him, each of their faces etched with anger.

"So, let me guess this straight. You only said I was the prettiest because we're dating?"

Chandler glanced sideways at Rachel and Phoebe and saw no sympathy for his situation; they were still insulted he hadn't chosen them for the prettiest of the three. After a small moment of 'uhms', he finally stuttered out, "I love you!"

Monica sent him a 'ha-ha, nice try' look, and whipped around, leaving the apartment in a mad fury without letting Chandler apologize for his accidental slip.

He spun to face the other two women, looking for compassion; instead, one blonde and one partly blonde were giving him two of the most contemptuous looks he'd ever received in his life. And as though it were planned, they both uncrossed their arms and walked silently to the door. There, they slowly turned around. For a moment, Chandler bit his bottom lip anxiously, preparing for some kind of lecture on standing by your friends.

Instead, they simply shook their heads, walked out into the hall, and slammed the door shut.

Sinking back down into his seat at the counter, Chandler looked down into his bowl of cereal, frowning slightly.

Women were so confusing. After all, he'd only told the truth.

---

A little bit of a reference to Greek mythology there.

Again, I have no idea why I wrote this… I was just bored… and of course, when I'm bored, I daydream, and then I saw all three of the women being pissed at Chandler… and thus this was born… just a random something. Reviews are so cool!


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